


Your Venus on a Chocolate Clam Shell

by Xavantina



Series: Olaf Needs Some Sugar in His Bowl [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Secret Crush, The Author Regrets Nothing, VFD politics, boys pretending to be investigators, close-to-underage prostitution, close-to-underage sex, kind of, sexual crisis brought on by seeing your childhood enemy in drag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: As summed up on my Tumblr:Olaf drops off the VFD’s radar after his latest stint in a minimum security penitentiary, but the VFD decide that they want him back in the fold, because despite being a little criminal hussy he does have unique talents in the areas of disguise and subterfuge. And since Lemony was technically his friend at school, or as close as it comes with Olaf, they assign him the job of tracking Olaf down.





	Your Venus on a Chocolate Clam Shell

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this monster in three days and I'm actually pretty proud of it. I hope you like cracky porn, because that's what this is, no more, no less.

_Oh the thrill of control_  
Like the rush of rock and roll  
It's the sweetest taste I've known  
If you've got some sugar bring it home 

 

Lemony is seething - a word that here means he had been seconds away from jumping down the throat of the person sitting across from him with a neat manila folder using phrases like “excellent investigational skills” and “prior history” and _“friendship”_ , while making it perfectly clear that he didn’t actually get a say in the matter – and it doesn’t help that Kit is unabashedly _amused_.

“Well,” she says. “He _was_ your friend.”

“He most certainly _wasn’t_ my friend,” Lemony protests.

Kit smiles at him over the rim of her steaming cup of bitter tea, takes a sip, and then shrugs one shoulder minutely. “You spent three years in the drama club with him; I suppose that is enough in some people’s eyes.”

“He was a menace,” Lemony insists. He doesn’t touch his own tea. He developed a habit of waiting to see everybody else drinks from pot before he allows himself to join them, and Jacques hasn’t had some of his yet.

Speaking of Jacques, he is at least _trying_ to conceal his smile, although he is doing a - pardon his French - piss-poor job at it. Ugh. Lemony hates it when his inner monologue grows vulgar, but if there was ever a time for it, this would be it.

Jacques clears his throat and manages to smooth his face into a more neutral expression during the process. “I think it’s a good thing. I mean, it will be great practice. Have you ever tracked down a missing person on your own before?”

“You know I haven’t,” Lemony says sourly.

“It’s actually a lot of fun,” Jacques insists, “Should be challenging with Olaf, what with his superior disguise skills.”

Lemony snorts. “The only skill he is vaguely good at.”

Kit makes a noise somewhere between a giggle and a cough, putting down her cup. “I think we all know why you don’t want anything to do with Olaf.”

“He’s an asshole and we’re better off without him?”

Jacques inhales sharply. “Lemony.”

“Excuse me, but the situation calls for strong language. Plus, I’m not a child and you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I don’t think I ever heard an adult utter the words ‘you can’t tell me what to do’,” Kit says. “It’s the kind of phrase mostly used by ungrateful little brats.”

“ _Ungrateful?_ ” Lemony says loud enough to draw attention from the other patrons at the café, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. “What do I have to be grateful about?”

“You get to sharpen your skills,” Kit replies patiently. “And if you decide to stalk him for a bit, I bet you’ll see some amusing things.” She smiles a bit too fondly while looking into the distance.

“See this is what I’m talking about,” Lemony continues. “Why aren’t you the one tracking him down? He was _your_ boyfriend.”

“Conflict of interest,” the twins say simultaneously, and boy does he hate it when they do that. Makes it seem like they’re ganging up on him, like he is the odd one out just because he’s younger than them.

“I don’t care, I don’t want to do this,” Lemony all-but whines.

Jacques sighs. “It won’t look good if you refuse.”

“It really won’t,” Kit agrees, suddenly somber.

Lemony sighs, really sighs, drawing air all the way into his stomach and blowing it out hard enough to disturb the steam coming from his tea. He really wishes Jacques would drink his right about now.

As if he could read his mind, Jacques finally picks up his cup, fixing Lemony with a knowing look. Right. Jacques is observant enough to have figured out Lemony’s little tea phobia by now, which also means he waited with drinking his own on purpose.

What a bastard. A word that here means bastard.

“What have you got to go on?” his brother asks.

Lemony fishes the napkin he took his notes on out of his pocket and scans over his own cramped handwriting. “Not much,” he answers. “He was spotted at a restaurant uptown three months ago, a couple of weeks after he got paroled. The kind of place he wouldn’t be able to afford on his own, so he’s obviously back to his old tricks.” 

“Who was he with?” Kit asks, something in her tone letting Lemony know that this will be important.

Lemony consults his napkin. “It doesn’t say. But Larry was the one to spot him, so he’ll know.”

“There’s your first step then,” Jacques says with a proud smile. “Go talk to Larry. See, you’ll do great.”

“I know I’ll be great, I just don’t want to,” Lemony grumbles and his siblings simply laugh at him and continue drinking their tea.

 

***

 

Larry is a bit older than Lemony, and an even bigger jumble of anxiety and neuroses, but he is good at his job. He got excellent marks in every class related to intelligence gathering and undercover missions, and he is one of the most unassuming people Lemony has ever met, which makes him perfect for his current job. No one would ever suspect that their nervous young waiter is spying on them, and so Larry has become one of the VFD’s greatest sources of information. Everybody eats, and Larry manages to work three serving jobs at once, spread out all across the city. Lemony hopes that he realizes how valuable he is to their organization, but a person with self-esteem as low as Larry’s probably just thinks they’re one more unimportant cog in the giant machine.

The plan is simple really. Lemony will order lunch, complain about the quality of the food and demand to see the chef, and Larry will take him out back where the debriefing will take place. The only problem is that Lemony isn’t hungry for once in his life. He’s trying to figure out which dish on the menu is smallest when Larry approaches, and in a fit of panic he orders a root beer float.

Larry frowns. “I make that, not the chef.”

Lemony stares at him meaningfully.

“Ah, yes, sorry. I didn't realize this was a sad occasion,” Larry says, and it’s painfully obvious that it’s a code he memorized. He needs to work on that.

“The world is quiet here,” Lemony replies with exaggerated casualness. Now that he’s said it he realizes that his delivery is as awkward as Larry’s, so either the codes are rubbish, or both of them need to practice. Since they’ve already proved themselves unable to stick to the plan, he might as well improvise. “I’d like to make a complaint.”

Larry blinks, hopelessly confused. “But... you haven’t even ordered yet.”

“Because this menu is terrible.” That’s not lie either. “I would like to see someone in charge.”

Improvisation is obviously not something Larry is comfortable with, because he looks just about ready to freak out, but he gets himself under control, and mutters “right this way, sir” before turning to lead Lemony out back.

Maybe the whole thing wouldn’t have been so blundering if they hadn’t been totally alone in the restaurant? They should probably have held the meeting later than 9AM.

If he thought that was awkward, it’s only since he never realized just how awkward Larry can be, because when Lemony cuts to the chase and asks who Olaf was with as his first question, Larry pretty much twists into a ball, figuratively, eyes flickering around the room like he is going to find something to get him out of the situation.

“Larry?”

Larry looks like he has something disgusting stuck in his throat. “Anthony Wilde.”

“And who is that?” Lemony asks as patiently as he can.

“He’s an investment banker. Extremely wealthy.”

There’s nothing in that answer to justify Larry’s discomfort, and Lemony gets the feeling that he will have to ask all the right questions to figure out what’s going on here. His track record on right-question-asking isn’t impressive, but Jacques always says that practice makes perfect.

“Why would an extremely wealthy investment banker be eating dinner with Olaf?” is the question he settles on, because he has got the feeling that Larry knows.

Judging by his grimace, he does. “Well, I’ve seen Mr. Wilde in here before. Often.”

“With Olaf?”

“No, but... He’s always eating with-” Larry shudders. “ - Handsome young men.”

Lemony frowns. First of all, hearing someone besides Olaf refer to him as handsome is jarring; secondly, he has no idea why Larry is so uncomfortable by an older man having a lot of dinners with young, handsome-... oh. _Oh._

“Oh.”

Larry looks relieved, like the fact that he doesn’t have to elaborate has taken a monumental weight off his shoulders. “They’re always very well-dressed, his partners. Olaf would definitely not have been able to afford the suit he was wearing.”

Lemony didn’t know that Larry was so knowledgeable on the subject of men’s fashion, but it comes in handy in this case. “So he must have bought Olaf these clothes.”

“Yes,” Larry replies.

“And the obviously explanation for why he would do something that is-...” Lemony is starting to get as uncomfortable as Larry at this point. “He’s trading material goods for the ‘pleasure’ of Olaf’s company.”

Larry seems quite happy with that phrasing, nodding profusely. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“How was he acting? Olaf, I mean.” He only asks because he has a really hard time imagining Olaf in an upscale place like this. The Olaf he knows is hopelessly crude and undignified.

“Perfectly pleasant,” Larry says, to Lemony’s great surprise. “He was laughing, making polite conversation. He was very, uh, _physical_.”

It’s kind of amazing how far into this conversation they’ve gotten without actually letting the cat out of the bag – a phrase that here means ‘said out loud what they both know to be true’; that Olaf is having sex with people in return for material goods. In other words, prostitution.

Well, they don’t know that for sure. Being nice and physically affectionate while in public with someone doesn’t prove that you’re selling your body to them. Right?

Oh, who is he kidding? This is definitely something Olaf would do, he has no personal boundaries and he’d do anything for money. It’s amazing that he hasn’t done this before.

“That we know of,” Larry says, and Lemony realizes too late that he’s been thinking out loud.

He clears his throat. “Anything else?”

Larry pulls out the little notepad he writes orders on and flips through it for a few seconds before he finds the page he is looking for, which he tears off and hands over to Lemony. “I had an associate of ours trail Mr. Wilde for a week, these are the addresses he frequents most often, most are fashionable restaurants and cafés, but the rest are pretty much all... very expensive gentlemen’s clubs and brothels.”

Oh god, no. 

He’s going to have to buy nicer clothes to get into a place like that.

 

***

He visits two of the establishments on Larry’s list every night for a week before he comes across Olaf, and he would have missed him entirely if Olaf hadn’t chosen the moment Lemony get a root beer at the bar (the bartender is not impressed and tries to offer him champagne instead) to laugh very loudly in that high feminine way he always does when he’s playing a female part in a show.

And he is playing a female part Lemony realizes when he turns and scans the crowd.

Olaf is wearing a dress. A very expensive-looking short, black silk dress that clings to every line of his lithe body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. His heels are sky-high, making his already long legs look even longer and slimmer. The wig he’s wearing is equally lavish, definitely made from real hair, long chestnut brown curls framing his made-up face and making him look very sophisticated. His lipstick is bright red and perfectly applied, his eyes lined thickly with kohl, and those eyelashes must be fake, but that doesn’t change the fact that they look amazing. The unibrow is nowhere in sight. All in all, he makes a very handsome woman, Lemony thinks, and then immediately remembers that this is Olaf he’s looking at, and with that he turns back to the bartender and orders a shot of whiskey, which he immediately throws back.

He isn’t sure how to approach Olaf, who is slinking closer and closer to an older, heave-set gentleman, who is obviously enjoying the attention he is getting _a lot_. So he orders a double whiskey and knocks it back in two gulps, coughing like a lightweight when he puts the glass down, drawing a smirk from the bartender. Lemony drops a couple of fifties on the bar and that buys him a more neutral smile. “The guy over there – uh, I mean, lady. What’s her name?”

The smirk returns. “That’s Shirley. She’s quite stunning, isn’t she?”

Lemony makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and considers getting another drink. He changes his mind when he remembers the whole ‘lightweight’ thing. He can’t let his judgement be clouded any more than it already is at this point. “How long has she worked here?”

The bartender shrugs. “I’m not supposed to diverge personal information about our employees to potential clients.”

“I’m not a potential client,” Lemony protests a little too quickly, but then an idea strikes him, how he can get Olaf alone. “But what if I was?”

The bartender chuckles. “Give me two seconds,” he says and then he is gone, walking over to Olaf and his gentleman caller with confidence Lemony definitely couldn’t match. 

He keeps his back turned, lest Olaf recognize him and bolts before he’s even gotten close to him. A couple of seconds later he hears high heels clicking on the floor and Olaf appears next to him, elegantly sitting down on one of the bar chairs. “I heard you wanted to see me, sir,” he says, voice breathy and light.

Lemony turns his head and realization dawns on Olaf’s face immediately, but surprisingly enough he doesn’t look embarrassed to be caught by a former associate in a compromising situation like this. He looks momentarily annoyed, but then his features grow pleasantly smooth again and a wicked smile twists the corner of his mouth upwards. “Lemony Snicket. Fancy seeing you here. I hadn’t pecked you as a... frequenter of establishments like this.”

Lemony grimaces. “I’m not here for-...” he breaks off, and tries again, “I’m here to see you.”

Olaf’s puts a hand to his chest and gasps in exaggerated delight. “Why, Mr. Snicket, I never thought you were interested in me in that way.”

“Oh shut up, O.,” Lemony hisses, pushing himself into Olaf’s personal space. “You know why I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Olaf replies genially, not recoiling in the slightest.

Lemony huffs in frustration. “I’ve been tasked with tracking you down and bringing you back in.”

His phrasing is unfortunate, and Olaf obviously picks up on it. “I didn’t realize you were my parole officer.”

He manages not to roll his eyes. “The VFD wants you back.”

Olaf’s laugh is absolutely brilliant, almost infectious. It takes a while for it to die down, and when it does he has to wipe away a few tears from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, L., why on earth would they want me back?”

Lemony is just about to sourly say ‘beats me’, but he controls himself. “Because you have a unique skillset that will be better utilized in the service of helping society rather than selling yourself to rich old pigs.”

“Snicket, please, those are my clients you’re talking about. They treat me a lot better than the VFD ever did.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

Olaf grows serious in the blink of an eye. “Doesn’t make it any less true. Speaking of clients, I have to be getting back to work.” Smirking, he adds, “Unless of course you’re offering to pay for the pleasure of my company.”

“How much?” flies out of Lemony’s mouth before he even knows what he’s doing.

Olaf’s already back on his feet but he stops, well-plucked eyebrows climb upwards until he gets control of them, dropping them to match a very demure and feminine smile. He leans an elbow on the bar, twists him body until his hip is thrust out to the side in a distinctly provocative manner and tells him.

Lemony stares. “It kind of makes sense now,” is all he manages to say.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Olaf says.

“All right. I’ll pay. To _talk_.”

Olaf lets out a huff of laughter, “If you insist. I have a room in the back.”

Said room turns out to be a lot more lavish than Lemony had ever imagined a private room at a brothel would be, even a brothel as high-class as this one. It’s decorated in all dark colors, lit by a myriad of candles, leaving the space feeling very intimate. The only pieces of actual furniture are a couple of burgundy couches covered in velvet pillows and Lemony sits down on the one that gives him a view of the door. Olaf sashays over to the other one and sits down, making a show of crossing his legs, flashing a bit of thigh and the top of one stocking. Lemony definitely doesn’t stare. He suddenly feels the whiskey starting to get to him. 

In a slight panic he launches into the speech he had prepared, but it’s obvious how rehearsed the lines are, and Olaf knows just what Lemony sounds like when he is spouting off lines, so he cuts him off before Lemony even gets to the part where he compliments Olaf’s skills as a VFD agent.

“I’d ask you to stop wasting my time with that drivel, but you _did_ pay for my time after all, so I’ll just say that you aren’t getting closer to your goal right now.”

Lemony stops talking and takes a minute to gather his thoughts while Olaf waits. Finally he says the first thing that springs to mind that is both honest and sure to get Olaf’s attention, “You’re a brilliant improvisational actor.”

Olaf blinks. “Go on.”

“Your use of the disguise kit is beyond exceptional. If I didn’t know what your laughter sounds like I wouldn’t even have recognized you earlier. The VFD needs you, Olaf, they need your skills.”

“I don’t care what the VFD needs,” Olaf sneers, and for the first time since Lemony met him tonight his face looks ugly as it twists in anger. “They never did anything for me, they don’t care about _my_ needs.”

“The VFD is based on sacrifice and -...”

“I don’t want to sacrifice _anything_ for that bunch of pretentious assholes, I’ve sacrificed enough.”

“And you aren’t sacrificing anything living like this?” Lemony asks gently.

Olaf pauses and looks away. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Kit misses you,” Lemony tries.

Olaf snorts. “Now you’re just being pathetic, Snicket. You might as well be telling me that _you_ miss me for all the good it will do you.”

“I...” Olaf won’t believe him is he says that, so he makes a last ditch attempt, appealing to Olaf’s conscience instead of his vanity, since that is obviously being fed regularly already. “You have the chance to change the world for the better, Olaf. We know you can be noble, that you can do noble things. Please, come back with me and at least hear them out.”

A number of emotions cross Olaf’s face too quickly for Lemony to separate them, but the one that settles in uncertainty. “You don’t actually mean any of this.”

“I do,” Lemony says, realizing as he says it that he isn’t lying even a little bit.

Olaf narrows his eyes at him and purses his lips, thinking. Finally he says, “All right, I’ll think about it. But only because you called me a great actor.”

Lemony does roll his eyes this time and Olaf laughs at him. “I said you were a great improvisational actor, not a great actor.”

“I don’t see the difference,” Olaf says, smiling the most genuine smile Lemony has ever seen grace his face. “You think I’m a great actor, admit it.”

“I’ll admit that you were good as the Player in _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ ,” Lemony says, not lying this time either. “You have a natural theatricality that lends itself well to parts like that.”

Olaf is practically beaming at this point. “Gosh, Lemony, I don’t think I’ve ever received such glowing praise from you before. You do remember that I already agreed to your proposition, right?”

The way he says ‘proposition’ is unambiguously sexual, and Lemony can feel himself growing suddenly tense. He tries to clear his throat but only ends up making a strangled sound. Olaf laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry, Snicket. I won’t tell anyone that you paid to spend time with me at a gentlemen’s club. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I paid to _talk_ with you,” Lemony corrects him, very quickly.

Olaf makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and for the first time Lemony notices his fingernails are painted with a deep red nail polish that shines in the light. “Plenty of people pay just to talk with me. They find me charming.”

Lemony raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“I can be very charming if I want to,” Olaf assures him and lowers his chin a little until he’s looking at Lemony through his thick eyelashes. “ _Very_ charming.”

This is getting out of hand at an alarming rate and Lemony has no idea how to bring the situation to a halt. “What time is it?” is the only thing that springs to mind.

“You have half an hour left,” Olaf replies. “Plenty of things we could do in half an hour.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, O.”

“Hmph,” Olaf huffs. “Back to O. I preferred Olaf. Shirley if you wanna be finicky about it, and I know how much you like that.”

“I’m not going to call you Shirley either,” Lemony says. “And as you keep pointing out, I’m paying you, so it stands to reason that I get to call you what I want.”

Olaf smiles, and that’s worrying, because Lemony isn’t entirely sure what he said to warrant such a satisfied smile. “I like that you’re finally making use of your current privileges.” 

How does he make a word as boring as ‘privileges’ sound sexual? This is getting ridiculous. He needs to change the subject. “How long have you been working here? The bartender wouldn’t tell me.”

Olaf shrugs noncommittally. “Pretty much ever since I got out. It’s a steady job, when you’re good at it.”

“And you’re good at it,” Lemony states, immediately regretting that phrasing.

Olaf actually _giggles_ , “Oh yeah, I am. I tried to hold down some odd jobs, but I’m much better at the jobs we call blow.”

Lemony chokes on nothing and tries his hardest not to visualize Olaf on his knees with a dick in his mouth. He fails spectacularly. 

In a fit of desperation he asks, “Why are you even-...?” He gestures helplessly at all of Olaf. “Dressed like this?”

Olaf smirks, like he knows that Lemony is having a bit of a crisis at the moment. “My clients like it. _I_ like it too, as a matter of fact.”

“You like wearing dresses?” Lemony asks, quite unhappy with how he only sounds curious and not the slightest bit disturbed.

“The dress, the wig, the make-up, the boobs, the underwear, all of it.” He does a little infliction at ‘underwear’ which is probably why Lemony automatically repeats it, his voice shaking a little;

“Underwear?”

Olaf’s face splits into a satisfied grin and before Lemony has the time to protest, he has pushed one strap of his dress down off his undeniably masculine shoulder, then the other, and the upper part of the dress falls down to his waist, revealing a bra made of expensive-looking black lace.

Lemony hates to admit it, but this time he definitely stares. His gaze sweeps helplessly across Olaf’s chest (what are those fake breasts made of? How has he made it look like he has a real cleavage? Was his chest hairless to begin with? So many questions that he can’t bring himself to ask) and then travels south, to Olaf’s flat stomach, which is... even more attractive. Fuck. An exclamation that here implies alarm and a desire to get up and run, but he won’t give Olaf the satisfaction. He’ll be damned if he’ll run away just because Olaf flashes him. He forces his eyes back to Olaf’s face.

The other boy – because they are still boys, Kit was right, damn it – is smirking like a cat who found its way inside the Valorous Farms Dairy. And then he does something truly awful; he gets to his feet, a lot more graceful than anybody should be in heels that tall, and gives the dress a little push, making it fall down completely, pooling around his ankles. Olaf steps out of it and kicks it to the side.

Fuck. And exclamation that here implies... Olaf is gorgeous. Just gorgeous. His legs are even longer and more slender than Lemony had estimated earlier. The panties are made of black lace as well, so is the garter belt. They’re not entirely shear, just enough for everyone to see what’s hidden beneath. 

Oh no. He’s staring at Olaf’s cock. Oh God, this wasn’t in his job description. If it had been, he would have protested a lot more vehemently.

Right?

Lemony is blushing, he feels it clearly. There’s really no denying his attraction any longer, and he hates that Olaf is able to see it so clearly. He almost doesn’t want to look up again and meet his eyes, just because he knows Olaf will be so smug, and he will never let Lemony live this one down. Maybe he should just abort the mission right now, surely no one will fault him for that, the situation considered. He still looks back up, after another automatic glance from feet to collarbones (his collarbones look really nice too, the shadows playing in his clavicles as the candles flicker), and finds that Olaf is looking... not smug.

Well, that’s not entire true. He is definitely pleased with himself, but he also appears strangely cautious, like he is actually a little worried about Lemony’s reaction. Something in Lemony’s eyes must have assured him that he did the right thing, if ‘right thing’ means ‘the thing that will finally push Lemony off the goddamn edge and into waters as dangerous as those of Lake Lachrymose’, because he quickly regains almost all of his previous confidence, as evident by the return of a dazzling smile accompanied by a little cock of his hip, with just happens to draw Lemony’s attention back southwards, and... oh.

Olaf is getting hard. That was... unexpected? He never figured that Olaf had any feelings for him beyond lingering contempt, even if they were on amiable terms for a couple of years. Certainly not any kind of attraction, sexual or otherwise. Maybe it’s just the situation? Although the flush creeping up from Olaf’s chest, to his neck, and then his cheeks, visible even through his make-up makes Lemony suspect otherwise. Olaf has done this plenty of times with other clients, surely he wouldn’t be blushing about it if he didn’t feel _something_ for Lemony, would he? _Would he?_

The worst part is that Lemony doesn’t feel the least bit disgusted by this realization. As a matter of fact, he likes it. As a matter of fact... oh no, again. He likes it a lot.

And Olaf notices well before Lemony has the time to hide his erection, not that it would have been completely possible when he is wearing dress pants as tight as the ones Kit made him wear. The low lighting might have helped, but let’s be honest, Olaf would be able to spot it easily, it’s pretty much his job to know when he is turning people on.

Lemony’s cheeks feel hotter than they’ve ever been before. He doesn’t know what the protocol is in situations like this. They didn’t teach him this at any point during his training. Should he be putting a stop to this? Or should he see where it leads? Lemony doesn’t even know which option he prefers.

His dick is perfectly clear on what course of action it would like him to take, but Lemony has made it his mission of his to not let his libido govern his actions. He’s not Jacques, after all.

But... he wants to see where Olaf is going to take this. So he leans back slightly on the couch and tries to look as relaxed as possible.

Olaf approves of that decision, and he shows this approval by striding across the plush carpet and crawling into Lemony’s lap without another word. His weight settles on Lemony’s lap at the same time as his lips press mercilessly against Lemony’s and it’s an absolutely amazing feeling, his warm skin smooth under Lemony’s hands, which have automatically moved up to clutch at Olaf’s hips before he even has time to consider whether he should be playing harder to get, a phrase that here means ‘not making it so painfully obvious how turned on he is by the situation’. It’s probably too late for that, considering the fact that he is moaning helplessly into Olaf’s mouth and desperately trying to keep up with the ruthless pace at which he is moving, tongue already snaking into Lemony’s mouth, kissing him like he’s drowning and Lemony is his only source of oxygen. Then he shifts forward a little and grinds down on Lemony’s crotch, and now there is definitely no going back.

Lemony’s body seems to have gone over to autopilot, because his hips arch up before his brain has time to process what he is doing, his grip on Olaf’s hips tightening until he worries that he might leave bruises. He relaxes his fingers a little, which has the added bonus of giving him the opportunity stroke Olaf’s amazing hipbones with his thumbs. Olaf notices the touch and hums into their kiss before breaking away. His lipstick is smudged. Lemony should probably be worried about the state of his own lips, but Olaf’s mouth looks even more gorgeous now, and he hates that they aren’t kissing anymore, so he leans forward and rectifies that situation. 

Olaf chuckles a little, but once Lemony sucks his bottom lip between his own and bits down lightly it changes into a deep groan, and his hips twitch intriguingly, rubbing his ass against Lemony’s cock, and if that isn’t going to drive him crazy, Lemony can’t think of anything else that will.

They stay like that for a while, Olaf rocking gently on Lemony’s lap and Lemony thrusting up against him in a manner that might be referred to as ‘dry humping’ by a less eloquent soul, but what Lemony simply thinks of as... well he cannot find a better term for it and his problem finding a less crude synonym isn’t troubling him in the slightest either, which just goes to show how far gone he is already. At least Olaf pulls away long enough to let him breathe at this point, or rather gasp for air like a fish out of water, while Olaf starts kissing along his jaw and then down his neck, deftly untying Lemony’s bowtie and undoing the top buttons to gain access to more skin that he can suck marks on, because he is definitely leaving marks, and not just marks made by lipstick. Lemony gets an unbidden image of his siblings’ smug faces when they see him, and he is about to protest based on that alone, but then Olaf’s teeth nip at a particularly sensitive point by Lemony’s pulse point that he hadn’t ever noticed was there before, and it doesn’t matter at all who might see the proof of what they’ve been doing, he almost _wants_ people to see.

Then Olaf accidentally brings the whole thing to a screeching halt when he whispers in Lemony’s ear, “Do you want me to suck your cock, daddy?”

Lemony freezes immediately, physically and mentally, and Olaf follows suit a split second later. “What?” Lemony squeaks at exactly the same time as Olaf says, “Fuck, sorry about that.”

Lemony pushes Olaf back until he can look him in the eye. He’s clearly embarrassed, although Lemony doesn’t know if it’s professional embarrassment or personal. “Why would you call me _that?_ ”

Olaf actually flinches. “Most of my other clients like that.”

That sobers Lemony up considerably. Olaf is thinking of him as a client, a person who paid him for sex. He’s not acting based on genuine attraction; he’s doing his job, his body as much on autopilot as Lemony’s was.

Olaf must have seen it on his face when he has that realization, the unmistakably disappearance of all arousal, because he damn near panics. “No no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t mean what like what?” Lemony asks, his voice unexpectedly bitter.

“I mean you’re not... I’m... look, I want this,” Olaf insists.

“I assume you want to have sex with your other clients, or you wouldn’t be doing it,” Lemony says scornfully.

Olaf is looking increasingly desperate. “That’s not what I meant. I want you.”

Lemony rolls his eyes and tries to turn his head away, but Olaf’s hands are suddenly on his face, holding him still. 

“Lemony, listen to me,” he begs.

That’s new, Olaf begging. New enough that Lemony looks him in the eye and stills, signaling his willingness to hear what he has to say. Olaf’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit. “I want you,” he repeats. “I have for a long time.”

Lemony arches an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

Olaf blinks at the profanity, but once the surprise wears off he releases Lemony and continues, “Remember when we did _Hamlet?_ ”

“Of course I remember when we did _Hamlet_ ,” Lemony says. They has fought over who got to play Hamlet for weeks, Olaf arguing his superior acting skills would be enough to carry him through and Lemony arguing his naturally morose demeanor was better suited for the part. In the end Olaf got Hamlet and Lemony got Horatio, which annoyed him endlessly, because it meant he had to pretend he loved Olaf unconditionally for three and a half hours.

“Remember the costumes Beatrice picked out for us?”

“Oh, I remember,” Lemony says, because he does. Tight pants and flowing shirts, Olaf’s black, Lemony’s white.

“You looked so hot in that outfit,” Olaf says, and he is actually blushing again. 

So is Lemony. He always thought he looked incredibly awkward in that costume, even though he had noticed that other people, male and female, had eyed him a lot while he wore it, both during rehearsal and performance.

Olaf looks wistful. “That last scene? That was my favorite. When you held me while I died.”

“Hamlet died,” Lemony corrects him out of habit. “You didn’t die.”

Now it’s Olaf who rolls his eyes. “You pedantic, fucking... ugh. Are you going to let me finish?” Lemony shrugs one shoulder in acceptance, so Olaf carries on, “You have really nice thighs. I liked lying across them. I like sitting on them too.” And then he does a little thrust with his hips like they hadn’t just stopped everything.

Which they might as well not have for all Lemony’s cock approves of the action. He huffs out a breath, as annoyed with himself as he is with Olaf’s blatant attempt at picking up where they left off. “You can’t just-...”

But Olaf obviously can ‘just’, because he makes the exact same movement again, and again, and again, until they’re right back where they left off, Lemony just as hard as he was, Olaf breathing even more heavily. When Lemony allows him to resume their kiss it’s clear that his token protests were just that, as empty as his mind goes when Olaf sucks on his tongue and moans prettily. Not a word he ever thought he would use to describe anything even remotely related to Olaf, but here we are.

“Lemony?” Olaf asks between kisses.

The interruption annoys him a little, but it would be rude to ignore it, so he says “yeah?” and then immediately kisses Olaf again anyway.

Olaf sniggers, and leans back until Lemony isn’t able to resume their kiss. “Can I suck you off?”

“Uhhh,” Lemony replies eloquently, and then his libido answers for him, “Yeah.”

Olaf’s brilliant smile is a beautiful thing. “You won’t regret that decision.” And with that he slides elegantly off Lemony’s lap and kneels on the floor in front of the couch, hands already going to Lemony’s belt.

It made sense to wear tight pants to a brothel when Kit explained that it made him more attractive, but he really wasn’t counting on taking them off at any point. The awkward twisting around only seems to amuse Olaf, who is very helpful during the process, and looks delighted to see that Lemony had to go commando, a phrase that here means forego underwear to avoid visible lines under the pants, something Kit also told him was unacceptable if he wanted to ‘look like the hot twunk you really are’ a phrase that he can’t give a definition of because he has no idea what it means and he really didn’t feel like asking Kit about it.

“Any preferences?” Olaf asks, way too casual for a person this close to another person’s exposed genitals, and Lemony is forced to shake his head.

“I don’t, uh, get a lot of blowjobs in my daily life,” he tells him. “At all.”

“But you have gotten some, right?” Olaf asks with considerable worry in his voice.

“Not really.”

Olaf’s eyes widen comically, and then his smile turns wicked. “Oh, L., darling, this is going to be amazing.” And with that he wraps his hand around the base of Lemony’s cock and leans forward to suck the rest into his mouth.

Lemony’s right hand flies down to clutch at Olaf’s shoulder and he stops being able to formulate sentences for his inner monologue, his world reduced to simple adjectives; Warm. Slick. Soft. _Amazing_. He dimly registers that Olaf isn’t holding his hips down even though he’s definitely thrusting into his mouth, simply matching the pace and adjusting, not even remotely close to gagging at any point, even though Lemony knows his size is above average.

Instead Olaf is only moaning with apparent delight, like he is pleased that Lemony has no control of neither his mind no his body. He lets go of the base of Lemony’s cock at some point and puts both hands on his thighs instead, fingers digging into the muscles. He apparently wasn’t lying when he said he had a thing for Lemony’s thighs, because his enthusiasm only grows and he sucks harder, making Lemony’s vision blur a little. He makes the mistake of looking down and immediately regrets it. Olaf is looking at him through his lashes, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on the upstroke, his lipstick leaving marks all over Lemony’s dick, spit running down his chin and dripping onto his thighs. And even though the sight is enough to push Lemony embarrassingly close to the edge in only seconds he can’t bring himself to look away. 

Olaf manages to convey the idea of a satisfied smile with only his eyes, and moves his hands to Lemony’s hipbones, pulling him forward suddenly and making his cock slide all the way into Olaf’s throat. Lemony makes a strangled noise. He doesn’t know how long he can last like this, and he has the feeling that it’s pathetically quickly that he’s going to come. Because if Olaf doesn’t let up, he’s definitely going to come, and part of him doesn’t want it to end so soon.

“Olaf, you need to slow down a little,” he manages to croak.

Olaf pulls back until only the head of Lemony’s cock remains in his mouth at makes a inquisitive noise, the vibrations making Lemony’s toes curl in his expensive shoes.

“If you don’t I’m going to come,” Lemony confesses, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Olaf let’s Lemony’s cock drop from his mouth with a little ‘pop’, wipes a bit of spittle off his chin and smirks. “That’s sort of the point of this whole activity, Snicket.”

“Don’t call me Snicket when you’ve been sucking my cock,” Lemony says.

Once again Olaf seems delighted by the profanity. “God, I love it when you talk dirty.”

Lemony snorts. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me,” Olaf replies, suddenly serious. “Do you want to come in my mouth? Normally I charge extra for that, but since it’s you, I’ll consider it a favor, one friend to another.”

Lemony’s mind goes blank but his body soldiers on, his head nodding a couple of times.

“Good,” Olaf says and sucks Lemony’s cock into his mouth again.

If Lemony thought it had been amazing before, it’s nothing compared to now. Olaf’s tongue is doing the most wicked things, his pace set perfectly to send Lemony barreling towards his orgasm in seconds. He tries to warn Olaf, out of curtesy, but Olaf already knows, and the second Lemony’s orgasm hits him, he takes him deep into his mouth slows down his movements, swallowing around Lemony’s dick and he comes into Olaf’s mouth harder than he ever has before. 

It seems to last for an eternity and when it finally ends Lemony collapses back onto the couch, completely boneless and blissed out. He distantly hears Olaf chuckle with satisfaction, but he can’t bring himself to straighten and look down. Instead his just sits there while Olaf absentmindedly pets his thighs and then tugs him back into his pants. Courteous to a fault when sex is concerned, that’s a surprise.

The thought makes Lemony straighten, suddenly realizing that he himself isn’t being courteous in the least. “Uh, do you want me to...?” he gestures in the direction of Olaf’s crotch.

Olaf sighs happily and gets to his feet. He’s obviously painfully aroused, but confusingly enough he still shakes his head ‘no’, and instead starts fixing his lipstick.

“Why?” Lemony asks, confused. “You don’t think I can-...”

“Oh no, I definitely want your big, gorgeous hands all over me more than anything, but it’s still relatively early, and I need to keep up my stamina for the whole night.”

The realization that Olaf is about to kick him out in favor of one of those disgusting old men outside makes Lemony’s stomach twist, and before he even knows what he is saying, his protective streak takes over, “How much for the entire night?”

Olaf tilts his head, pausing in the process of putting his dress back on. “Excuse me?”

“How much do I have to pay for you to come home with me and stay all night?”

The smile that twists Olaf’s lips is a bit odd, one part pleasure, one part wonder, and a little wistful. “That depends on what your budget is for this little mission of yours.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Lemony says, “I’ll pay out of my own pocket, anything you want.”

Olaf actually looks a little fond of him then. “We’ll talk about that later. I need to get my coat and tell the higher-ups that I’m leaving. Meet you out back?”

Lemony tries to recall which of his associates in currently surveying the back entrance, but finds himself both unable to remember and unwilling to care. “Sure. Five minutes?” 

“Do you want me to keep the outfit or would you rather not be seen with a whore in drag by whoever is watching us?”

Lemony almost bristles, but he knows Olaf can’t exactly read minds and know that Lemony just decided that that doesn’t matter. “Whatever you prefer,” he says.

“Hmmm,” Olaf hums, readjusting his bra-straps so they are covered by the straps of the dress. “I think I’ll keep it on then. It’s one of my favorites.” He leans down and gives Lemony a peck on the cheek. When Lemony frowns at the platonic gesture he adds, “Most men don’t want to kiss you after you just swallowed their spunk.”

The childish choice of words makes Lemony snort, and then he gets up, grabs a hold of Olaf’s chin, and kisses him deeply. It’s not bad, actually it’s sort of exciting to be able to taste himself on Olaf’s tongue. Makes him feel suddenly possessive, which is not good, not good at all. He read enough tragedies about emotional men who fall in love with prostitutes to know that it never ends well. But Olaf won’t be a prostitute for much longer, at least not if Lemony has a say in it.

Olaf leaves the room and Lemony goes outside. He can’t spot whoever is watching the back, but then again that’s sort of the point. He tries to look casual – a phrase that here means not like a person who just got a blowjob in a brothel by a former schoolmate - but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t pull it off. When Olaf steps outside, his make-up once more immaculate and wig perfectly styled, he walks over to Lemony and plants a wet kiss on his lips that goes on long enough for Lemony to suspect that Olaf is making a point to their observer.

“Let’s see if your brother puts that in his report,” he says once he finally pulls away.

“ _Jacques?_ ”

“Second floor, the window to the far left,” Olaf says breezily and then waves in that direction. “Kind of odd to have your own family spying on you, but the VFD does work in twisted ways.”

Lemony makes a point of _not_ looking up at where Jacques is supposedly sitting, instead he links arms with Olaf in a little show of defiance, something that makes Olaf laugh happily, and leads him out towards the main street.

They find a cab (the driver gives Olaf a little nod and Lemony a knowing smile) and Lemony gives the man his actual address. It’s only afterwards that he wonders if he should have taken Olaf to one of the multiple safe-houses he has set up to look like his own apartment, but he realizes that he would much rather have Olaf sleeping in his real bed. Sleep in his bed? Since when it _that_ something he’d think about with a little twinge of anticipation?

Olaf makes a noise of approval when Lemony unlocks the door and gestures for him to go inside. “This is where you live,” he remarks. “Your actual home.”

“Of course it is.”

Olaf shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have faulted you for taking me somewhere else, you know.” He throws his coat on the couch. “I kind of expected it.” He pulls his wig off then, and a razor blade fall onto the floor. Lemony stares at it in shock. “Ah, yes, I forgot about that one,” Olaf says, not the least bit bothered. “I might not deal with the sort of clientele that would usually pose a threat, but you can never be too careful.” He picks up the blade and puts it in the pocket of his coat. “I trust that I won’t need it with you,” he jokes.

Lemony still looks offended at the implication, “Don’t be a dick.”

Olaf had been wearing a little hairnet under his wig, and once he pulls it off, revealing his messy hair, he’s suddenly no longer Shirley, but Olaf through and through. Only in a dress and with a face full of make-up. It’s kind of fascinating to see how much of a difference it makes. His body language changes too, going from distinctly feminine to the way Olaf usually hold himself; like a predator ready to strike. Which Lemony only realizes that he is when Olaf has leapt at him and pushed him up against the wall, kissing him desperately.

Lemony takes him to bed, his actual bed, and takes his time undressing him. While the frantic speed from earlier was exciting, he wants to make their second time last. Olaf seems to enjoy it immensely, twisting and arching into Lemony’s touch as he explores every inch of the other man’s body, every patch of skin, every little dip and curve. Olaf is the one who breaks first, pushing Lemony onto his back and straddling him, holding him down by the shoulders. They don’t make love, but it’s definitely not fucking either, it’s too slow for that, at least until the end, when Olaf begs him to jerk him off and Lemony does so, causing Olaf to immediately pick up the pace in search of his own orgasm. He comes on Lemony’s chest and it’s not disgusting at all, as a matter of fact it’s so sexy that Lemony follows suit seconds later.

He never pegged Olaf as a cuddler, but then he never pegged him as someone who would have even the slightest of romantic feelings for him. It’s a pleasant surprise though, when Olaf curls up at his side, breathing evening out as he starts to fall asleep.

“How much for the rest of the week?” Lemony asks, lips against Olaf’s temple.

Olaf chuckles drowsily. “I thought you were ‘taking me back in’?”

Lemony lets out of little snorts. “They can wait a little longer.”

Olaf tilts his head back and gives Lemony a sleepy smile. “Well aren’t you just full of surprises, Lemony Snicket?”

 

The End?

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments feed my creative soul, so feel free to leave those if you liked this terrible piece of self-indulgent smut.


End file.
